


just like heaven to touch (wanna hold you so much)

by growlery writes (growlery)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Author's Favorite, M/M, Minor Monty Green/Nathan Miller, bellamy&raven are soulmates i am incapable of writing them as anything else, soft romo nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 10:59:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16993758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery%20writes
Summary: Lincoln's never seen Bellamy smile this much before. Lincoln should hang out with him outside of soccer practice, maybe.





	just like heaven to touch (wanna hold you so much)

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt _willing_ , from table #3 of [100prompts](https://100prompts.dreamwidth.org/).

Lincoln has an open-door policy, so he's not surprised when there's a quiet knock at his door late one Tuesday afternoon. He was up, anyway, working on an essay he hasn't been able to make enough time for. He closes his laptop before he gets up to answer the door; it can wait.

"Hey," Harper says quietly, her eyes red-rimmed and not quite meeting Lincoln's. "Sorry, I know it's late, but I-"

"Don't worry about it," Lincoln says, giving her a small smile as he gestures her inside. She takes one of the beanbags, legs folded up awkwardly in front of her, and Lincoln sits at his desk, rummaging in his drawers for his emergency chocolate stash. Harper looks like she might start crying again when he hands over a bar.

"You're the best," she tells him, painfully sincere, and Lincoln shrugs, still with that small smile.

"That's my job," he says. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong."

*

Lincoln oversleeps, doesn't have time for a coffee run, so he puts himself at the mercy of the vending machine outside of his lecture theatre. He forgoes a lid, letting it cool from scalding to slightly less than scalding as he ducks into the lecture, a few minutes late but the lecturer is too, so he's good. He takes a spot near the middle and gets out his laptop, clicking over to the tab with his essay; might as well use whatever time he has to get some words in.

If he could get any words out of his brain, that is. Lincoln grimaces, resigning himself to rewriting, again, the few hundred or so words he does have.

The lecturer doesn't end up showing up, and people are steadily filtering out until someone checks their email and announces a cancellation notice was sent out ten minutes after the lecture was scheduled to start. Pretty much everyone leaves after that, loudly complaining as they do, but in the last few minutes Lincoln's managed to hit a groove. It's not like anyone's going to be needing the room. 

"'Is liberal perfectionism problematically paternalistic?'" comes a voice from behind him, clearly reading off his screen. "Weird topic for an art history class."

Lincoln doesn't turn, even though he's surprised; he didn't know Bellamy took this class. "That's because it's not," he says mildly. "I'm majoring in philosophy."

"Cool," Bellamy says, like he means it. Not that Lincoln would know. This is the first interaction he’s had with Bellamy outside of soccer practice, and Bellamy's never exactly been chatty with Lincoln before. Not unfriendly, exactly. Unnecessarily combative, maybe. "Classics."

"I'm taking a Classics class," Lincoln says, and he doesn't know why, isn't sure why he's intentionally extending this conversation, but Bellamy's eyes light up, the start of a smile on his face, and suddenly the decision doesn't feel so strange. "Gender and sexuality in ancient Rome."

It's a whole smile, now. Bellamy looks warm and delighted as he says, "That one’s my favourite, have you done the reading for this week yet?"

Lincoln hasn't. Bellamy doesn't blink when Lincoln tells him so, just launches into an enthusiastic and detailed summary of the key points and his opinions on each one. He's smart, clearly widely read, good at explaining without slipping into condescension. Lincoln can't help but be drawn in, so much so that he doesn't notice the room’s filled up again until someone asks to get past him to take the empty seats in the middle of the row.

"Sorry," Bellamy says, as they gather up their stuff to leave. "Didn't mean to distract you from writing your essay."

"I was very willing to be distracted," Lincoln says, and for some reason that makes Bellamy's cheeks go a little pink.

"That's, uh, that's cool," he says. "Do you have class now? I'm free for the rest of the day. We could get coffee and talk about the reading some more."

Lincoln's got an RA meeting in a few hours, but nothing until then, so he nods. Bellamy seems like a great study buddy. "I need to get a start on that essay too," he says. "Maybe we could brainstorm together."

"That'd be great," Bellamy says. "I'm currently at negative three hundred words."

"How can you have a negative word count?" Lincoln asks, amused despite himself.

"Deleted words," Bellamy says, sounding genuinely mournful. "Words you poured your heart and soul into. Words you'll never get back from the universe."

Lincoln laughs, and Bellamy's gaze flicks quickly to him, a smile spreading on his face.

*

Lincoln lets Bellamy into the Philosophy building so they can sprawl in the ridiculously comfy chairs in the common room. It turns out there's not a lot of opportunity for sprawling; a bunch of freshmen have had the same idea, so there's only one small sofa left. Lincoln's about to suggest they try and find study space somewhere else when Bellamy flops onto the sofa, looking expectantly back at Lincoln.

It's more comfortable than Lincoln would have thought, squeezed in next to Bellamy. Neither of them are small, but Bellamy's been careful to leave him almost exactly half the space. Bellamy's thigh is pressed against Lincoln's but it's warm, solid, unintrusive. Maybe a little distracting, but Lincoln's well practised at ignoring distractions. 

Lincoln ends up doing the reading Bellamy had talked about, stopping every few paragraphs to raise a point that Bellamy enthusiastically nods about and responds to. He must be working on something of his own, maybe the essay for that class, but he always looks up when Lincoln says something, always has a smile for him. Lincoln's never seen him smile this much. Lincoln should hang out with him outside of soccer practice, maybe.

"We should do this again," Lincoln says, as he's packing up his stuff to head to the RA meeting, and Bellamy nods, waves him off. If he maybe looks a little disappointed to see Lincoln go, well. Lincoln's a pretty good study buddy too. Lincoln doesn't blame him.

Since he's in the building, anyway, he goes back to his room after the meeting. He means to just take a nap, slough off some of the exhaustion he's carrying, but he wakes to loud knocking and not his alarm, and when he glances out the window, it's long since gone dark. Lincoln sighs, knuckles at his eyes.

"Sorry," Miller says, when Lincoln answers the door, "I wasn't sure what to do, there's a- are you okay, man?"

"I was just napping," Lincoln assures him. He's the RA here. He has to be fine. "What happened, Miller?"

What happened is that there was a leak in the room above Miller and Monty, which was only discovered when Monty got back from class to find everything in the room soaked through. They'd had their electronics with them, at least, but everything else is ruined.

"I'll let the building supervisor know," Lincoln says, and both Miller and Monty look visibly relieved. "They'll find you somewhere else to stay as soon as they can. You can hang out in my room until then, okay?"

He gets a long hug from both of them, which makes the half hour he has to spend arguing with accommodation services worth it, even if he's even more exhausted by the end of it.

"There's good news and bad news," he says. Miller and Monty turn to look at him; they're both sitting on his bed, a noticeable space between their bodies that Lincoln makes a note of, files away to check in on later. "The good news is-"

"You're not going to let us pick?" Monty asks, and Lincoln raises his eyebrows at him.

"By all means," he says, and Monty says, "I pick good news!" and despite himself, Lincoln laughs.

"The good news," he starts again, "is that they can give you guys a room tonight." Monty cheers, and Miller darts an impossibly fond look at him that Lincoln also files silently away. "The bad news is, it's a single."

"A single," Miller says slowly. "So there's only one bed."

"They're going to find an alternative solution for the long-term," Lincoln says apologetically, "but right now, that's the only option."

"Better only one bed than no bed, right?" Monty says, and Miller very studiously looks at the floor. Lincoln takes pity on him.

"One of you can have my bed for tonight," he offers, "I can find somewhere-"

"Absolutely fucking not," Monty says. "You stupidly generous weirdo. We'll be fine sharing for a little bit."

"You better not kick in your sleep," Miller warns him, and Monty makes an outraged noise.

"You better not hog the blankets!"

Miller's clearly trying to look affronted, but instead he just looks fond, his face so warm Lincoln feels like he's intruding. 

He gets another long hug from both of them before they leave, and Lincoln says, "You have my number if you need anything." Miller shakes his head a little, and Monty gives him a two-fingered salute.

*

Bellamy smiles at Lincoln their next practice when Lincoln gets to the locker room. He's stripped down, only his shorts on, and Lincoln keeps his gaze firmly on Bellamy's face when he smiles back. He's well-practised at ignoring distractions.

They're on the same team for the practice, which has happened plenty of times before. Lincoln scores, which has also happened a non-negligible amount of times. Bellamy crashes into his goal celebration and yells delightedly in Lincoln's ear, which is new. Lincoln hugs him back without thinking about it, squeezing as tight as Bellamy is. 

Lincoln's exhausted in the good way by the team Coach releases them, and he takes a little longer in the shower than he usually does, enjoying the hot water soaking into his aching muscles. He rubs at his upper arm where Bellamy collided with him, a thrilling soreness that serves as a reminder of Bellamy pressed against him. Lincoln closes his eyes, lets himself bring up the image for just a second, before ruthlessly dissolving it.

Bellamy's the only person left when Lincoln gets out of the shower, mostly dressed except for his jacket and shoes. He's looking at something on his phone, but he glances up, then quickly back down again. He clears his throat.

"Uh, hey," he says, kind of gravelly, and Lincoln's whole body thrums. He knows that look. He's given guys that look. His heart beats a little faster.

"Hey," he says. Bellamy's gaze is still fixed on his phone, but Lincoln turns around to get dressed, anyway. He feels like he's burning, like he can't quite get enough air in his lungs.

All the while, Bellamy stays where he is.

Lincoln finally turns around, clearing his throat. Bellamy looks up, a carefully neutral look on his face. Lincoln's smile is tentative.

"You're still here," he says, like it's a question. Bellamy shrugs.

"So are you," he says, like it's an answer. Lincoln smiles.

They walk out together, shoulders brushing. It's nice, companionable. It might be something more, something heavier, but Lincoln isn't going to be the one to push it.

"I've got class," Bellamy says, sounding apologetic, and he hesitates for a second before going in for a hug. He smiles at Lincoln when he pulls back, and it's hard to feel disappointed in the face of that. "You wanna study, after?"

"Sure," Lincoln says, and Bellamy's smile goes even warmer.

"I've got a place off campus," he says, and he'd sound casual if he weren't very obviously trying to sound casual. "It's quiet, and it has food."

"Well, if there's food," Lincoln says, and Bellamy laughs. 

*

Lincoln stops by the shops on his way over to Bellamy's. He comes out with a few large bottles of soda because the idea of turning up to someone's home to be fed without bringing some kind of offering with you is just untenable, and he doesn't really drink alcohol.

A familiar voice answers when he buzzes up, but it's not Bellamy's.

"Yeah?" says Raven Reyes.

"Hey, it's Lincoln. Bellamy, uh," he says, and isn't sure how to end the sentence.

"Oh, hey," Raven says anyway, and he thinks she maybe sounds pleased around the static. "Bellamy went out but he'll be back soon. The door'll be open, just come in."

He does, locking it behind him. It's a pretty decent place, for student housing, but Lincoln thinks that's probably because it's actually clean and tidy, which is enough of a novelty. One of the doors is open, so he heads for that room, smiling at Raven when he sees her sitting on her bed.

"Long time no see," she says, and Lincoln nods. He was her RA last year but they haven't really kept in touch, which is honestly a shame; Raven's pretty cool. "How are the freshmen treating you?"

"Not too bad," Lincoln says. He rifles through his memories of the year so far, tells her a few stories that make her laugh and him smile to remember them. It's nice to be reminded of the good things, sometimes. More often than he manages, for sure.

"I hear you had a disaster last week," she says, patting a space on the bed next to her. Lincoln takes it, nodding at her. "Monty and Miller's whole room situation."

Of course she knows Monty and Miller. Lincoln should stop being surprised that people he knows know each other; college is a tiny place, sometimes.

"There should be somewhere available for them soon, but they'll probably be split up," Lincoln says. He smiles. "I get the impression they won't be too keen on that."

"I dunno," Raven says dryly. "Apparently Monty likes to cuddle, which is the absolute worst thing on the planet. Miller's words."

"Theatre students," Lincoln says wisely.

"Pining fools," Raven corrects, and she's frowning, but she also sounds unspeakably fond. "I thought maybe this would be the thing that makes them finally get their shit together, but no luck so far."

That's when the front door opens, and Bellamy yells, "Honey, I'm home!"

"Speaking of pining fools," Raven says, grinning, and then raises her voice. "You're a terrible host, Bell, leaving me to entertain your guest."

There's a beat, sounds of bags being laid down on countertops, and then Bellamy's voice: "I knew he was in good hands.” Raven shakes her head, still grinning. Lincoln's mind sticks on _speaking of pining fools_ , then carefully slides over it.

"I should go help," he says, getting to his feet. "Are you eating with us?"

Raven's smile turns a little wicked, but she just shakes her head. "I have other plans, which I should be leaving for right about now, actually. Have fun without me. As much as anyone can, anyway."

They head out of the room together, and Raven points him towards Bellamy, unpacking bags of food in the kitchen/living room. 

"Hey," Lincoln says. "Where are we eating?"

"Hey," Bellamy says, turning to give him a brief, distracted smile. "On the couches is fine, unless you wanna be fancy and sit at the dining table."

"It'll be easier to study at a table," Lincoln reasons, setting the soda down on it.

"Oh, yeah," Bellamy says. "Right."

Lincoln puts the bag with his laptop and books down by the side, figuring they'll eat first, before going to join Bellamy in the kitchen. "Want some help?"

"Sure," Bellamy says, and Lincoln settles easily into the rhythm of chopping vegetables while Bellamy fusses over the pan. They don't talk much, but it's an easy quiet, comfortable, casually domestic in a way that makes Lincoln feel warm.

They dish up their portions and sit across from each other, still in that easy quiet, and Lincoln knows what this feels like. He knows what he wants it to be. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to just ask Bellamy, except for how it's impossible to draw the words out of his throat.

When they're both finished, Bellamy gets up and takes their plates to the sink, washing them up briskly. Lincoln takes a deep breath, steadies himself, then gets to his feet. 

Bellamy looks surprised to see him standing there when he turns around. Surprised and maybe something else, something that makes Lincoln feel brave enough to take a step forward. He sees Bellamy swallow. Bellamy moves closer, too, until there's no space left between them, all the air in the room gone with it.

Lincoln's got a few inches on Bellamy he's never really noticed before. It’s impossible to miss now, with Bellamy's too-wide eyes looking up at him. He looks- Lincoln doesn't know how he looks. Kind of like how Lincoln feels, maybe. Lincoln tries a smile, and Bellamy's face immediately cracks into a beam. The tension cracks with it, and Lincoln finds his words.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, and Bellamy breathes out a laugh and says, "Fuck, _please_ , yes," and Lincoln's smile widens.

It makes it kind of awkward when their mouths press together, nothing lining up right, until Bellamy fists his hands in Lincoln's shirt and pulls him close, kissing him back with intent. Lincoln braces himself on the counter on either side of Bellamy, but then his hands are too close to Bellamy's hips, his waist, and he has to touch. Bellamy gasps a little when Lincoln grips at his hips, and Lincoln thrills with it, tightens his hold.

"Shit, Lincoln," Bellamy says, his voice shaky. "We should- fuck, Raven will murder us if we have sex in the kitchen. No one will ever find our bodies."

Lincoln laughs softly, presses a kiss to Bellamy's forehead. Bellamy's eyes flutter shut, and when he opens them, he smiles. "But that's what bedrooms are for." He shrugs, very casual. "If you want."

Lincoln does want. Kind of a lot. He isn't sure how to put into words how much, so he puts it into a kiss instead, slow and deep and just a little bit filthy. Judging by how dazed Bellamy looks when he pulls back, he got the gist.

*

They don't do anything but make out for, fuck. Ages. Several lifetimes. Almost an hour, when Lincoln glances at the clock. They lost their shirts at some point, and it's good, so good, feeling Bellamy's bare skin against his. He wants to feel the rest of him, all of him, but not with any kind of urgency. There's already so much to explore. Right now, Lincoln's losing himself a little bit in the noises Bellamy makes when Lincoln bites him, louder the harder Lincoln does it. Lincoln wonders what Bellamy would do if Lincoln broke skin, drew blood, so he asks.

"Yeah," Bellamy says, deliciously hoarse, and then he shakes his head like he's trying to clear it. "Not this time, though."

Lincoln feels warm all over. "This time?" he repeats, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Bellamy looks defiant when he repeats, "If you want," and, shit, of course Lincoln wants. He thought he'd made that clear.

"I do," he says, unable to escape words, this time. Bellamy's smile is so much more than worth it, and so is the way he surges up to kiss Lincoln. It's a little messier than it has been, more than a little frantic, and Lincoln could keep doing this forever, probably, but he wants so much more.

"So what do you want, this time?" he asks, putting enough space between them that he can think somewhat clearly. It's more space than Bellamy can tolerate, apparently, and Lincoln's smiling helplessly as Bellamy hooks his fingers under Lincoln's waistband to drag him back to his mouth. He doesn't take his hands away, instead running his fingers over the skin between Lincoln's hips and up to his waist, and it feels so good, so close to where Lincoln wants him most. He presses closer, grinding slowly against Bellamy.

"This would be better if we were naked," Bellamy says, annoyingly coherent for how in pieces Lincoln feels. He nods, and they pull each others' pants and underwear down, kick them awkwardly off their ankles, and yeah, it's better, it's so much better. Lincoln doesn't resist when Bellamy rolls him onto his back, relishes the solid weight holding him to the bed, the way he can still touch everywhere he wants.

They're still kissing furiously, until Bellamy turns his head, shifts so his neck is against Lincoln's mouth. Lincoln exhales over the skin just to feel Bellamy shiver, and then he bites down, hard. Above him, Bellamy shakes and shakes and goes still, and a few thrusts later, Lincoln comes, too.

Bellamy rolls off him immediately, which is considerate of him, though Lincoln thinks he wouldn't have minded the restriction on his breathing to have Bellamy hold him down a little longer.

They both just breathe for a few minutes. Their arms are pressed against each other right down to the fingertips, and Lincoln feels Bellamy's hand flex a few times before it moves to cover his own.

*

They do actually end up studying, after they share a shower, trading off standing under the spray and standing at the other end of the bath. Or, as what ends up happening a lot more, only a few inches away, close enough that the water streams over them both.

"I was thinking about this earlier," Bellamy says, when they turn the water off. "You were in the showers for _so long_."

"It was a hard practice," Lincoln says, which is the truth, even if it's not all of it. He turns away to towel himself dry, a strange impulse he doesn't know how to override. He's still facing away from Bellamy when he says, "I was thinking about you too. I wasn't expecting you to-" He swallows. "I wasn't sure what this was. And then you looked at me."

He feels a hand curl around his hip, firm but gentle. Lincoln lets himself be turned. Bellamy's smiling at him, this look on his face that Lincoln can only describe as fond.

"I've _been_ looking at you," Bellamy says, wry. "Sorry, if that's weird."

Words are difficult again. Lincoln swallows. "In the changing room?" he says, as light as he can, and Bellamy laughs softly.

"Not before today," he says. "That would be weird."

"And you," Lincoln says mildly, "would never, ever be weird."

Bellamy looks like he's trying to be offended, but he's smiling a little bit too hard for it to stick. "Not creepy weird," he says, and Lincoln nods his concession.

"I thought you were going to kiss me," Lincoln says, and Bellamy's smile turns bashful.

"I wanted to," he says, "believe me, I fucking wanted to. I wanted to do this right, though."

"This," Lincoln repeats, and Bellamy nods. "I'm still not really sure what 'this' is."

"I figure we have to decide that together," Bellamy says, and Lincoln supposes that's fair.

"What if we don't know what we want," Lincoln says slowly, "but we definitely want to keep doing it?"

Lincoln's never seen this smile before, Bellamy's entire face lit up like the sun. He hopes he gets to see it again, and again.

"That's a start," Bellamy says. "We can figure out the rest later."

**Author's Note:**

> lincoln studies philosophy purely for convenience sake because this was supposed to be _short_ ; write what you know etc etc. i have many feelings about what kind of philosophy he is into and what Philosophy Student Archetype he models but this fic is already far longer than it has any right to be. 
> 
> yes, the title is from can't take my eyes off of you WHAT OF IT


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